


This Changes Everything

by suitesamba



Series: The "This" Series [9]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Past John/Mary - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1720877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock explains why Billy Wiggins was following Mary, and adds a deduction of his own into the mix.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Changes Everything

**Author's Note:**

> "This" is a series of ficlets, each building on the previous, all stemming from a stag night where Sherlock and John were never interrupted by Mrs. Hudson and the client. Begins with "This Kiss." Some angst, some fluff, some h/c, some firsts, lots of Sherlock learning the relationship ropes. Recent past Mary/John.

“You’re missing the point entirely.” Sherlock stands behind his chair, staring down at John with a sort of immature frustration. Mary and Wiggins have gone – Wiggins still clutching his arm to his chest – and Sherlock has plucked his cup of tea from the kitchen table and escaped into the sitting room. John, not about to let him off, has followed him.

“No. I’m not.” John returns Sherlock’s stare. They are at an impasse. “You were spying on Mary.”

“I was keeping an eye on her – yes. But the point – ”

“The point is you were _spying_ on her. Why?”

Sherlock ignores the question – again. “The point is that she single-handedly overpowered an armed man, stole his wallet and forced him to accompany her here. Mary did this, John. _Mary_.”

John opens his mouth, a retort ready, and abruptly closes it. 

Sherlock sighs in relief.

“Yes. Exactly. You see it now.”

John shakes his head slowly, staring at his hands clutching each other in his lap. Mary is fun, and lively, outgoing. He’s never seen her strike out at anything or anyone. Despite the fact that she is no longer his fiancé, he doesn’t automatically suspect her motivations. He neither distrusts her nor dislikes her. He empathises with her. “There must be an explanation.”

Sherlock shakes his head. “She sprained Billy’s arm. _Sprained_ it, John. She disabled him, just enough. She didn’t injure him so badly that he required immediate medical attention. Surely you see that!”

“She’s a nurse, Sherlock.” John is exasperated. They’re getting nowhere. “She wouldn’t deliberately hurt anyone. It’s counter-intuitive.”

Sherlock is staring at John, an incredulous look on his face. “Says the doctor,” he says, emphasising the last word.

“Totally different,” John states, throwing out an argument out of habit more than anything else. “I’m a soldier too.” 

“Exactly.”

They continue the staring game now, and John has a sinking feeling in his stomach. He’s missed something. Something big.

“She’s much more than a nurse,” Sherlock says, frustration edging his voice, “just _exactly_ like you’re much more than a doctor. She’s not at all what she seems, John.” He turns his back on John and walks to the window, looks out at the street below. 

John takes a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. He stands and approaches Sherlock, lowers his voice. “Why does it matter?” he asks. “We’re not together anymore. She’s moved on – Billy said she has a boyfriend.”

Sherlock turns to face John. He looks a bit stricken. It is not a look John wants to see on Sherlock's face. Ever.

“Trust me. It matters.”

John blows out another breath. “Why were you having her followed, Sherlock?” he asks. 

Sherlock collapses back into his chair. He draws his feet up, rests his chin on his knees. It is a position he assumes when he wants to think through what he’s saying, when he wants to proceed with caution. It is a guarded position. A careful one. John knows this. Recognises this.

It worries him.

“Sit, please.” Sherlock gestures at John’s chair.

John obeys, brushing his hand along Sherlock’s shoulder as he moves around his chair, taking his hand, squeezing it, letting it go. He sits down and leans forward. The initial rush of adrenaline – the adrenaline that surged when he found Billy Wiggins on the stair and realised Mary was inside with Sherlock – is gone. He’s not angry that Sherlock had Mary followed. He’s angry that Sherlock didn’t tell him. That Sherlock knows things – suspects things – that he hasn’t yet shared with John. 

_Stupid_ , John tells himself. _You haven’t explained to him that a relationship changes all the rules. He doesn’t_ know.

“Just – whatever it is – just say it,” he says. 

Sherlock is blunt. 

“Mary’s pregnant.”

And eight weeks, eight blissful weeks, crash down around John’s head. The world changes. Tips on its axis then rights itself only to tip the other way.

“She told you?”

Sherlock shakes his head. No.

He should ask Sherlock how he knows then. If he’s sure. How the hell he came away with that bit of information. But he doesn’t question it. Sherlock Holmes has deduced this, and John trusts his deductions implicitly.

“How long?” he asks, instead. And what he means is “Is the baby mine?”

Sherlock shakes his head. “I don’t know,” he answers. “Not yet.”

“This won’t change anything,” John manages. “If it’s mine.”

Sherlock smiles tightly. 

“No, of course it won’t.”

They’re both lying, naturally, and they both know it.


End file.
